Piekje
It had been a while since I visited a well-known private club. Because it could get quite crowded at times, and not all the ladies were my type, I had made an appointment in advance. With Eliza, as we had a good connection, and I could count on a genuine girlfriend experience with her.
During previous encounters, Eliza had managed to coax my fetish out of me, to some extent at least.
Unlike her colleagues, Eliza sported a short haircut. The first time I met her, she vividly described how she had cut her long hair very short herself after a failed dye job. Without any regrets, she had used clippers to get it down to a few millimeters.
Gosh, my fantasies ran wild hearing this story, and I tried to imagine how she did it and how short it must have been.
“You stir something up in me,” I said.
“Why?” Eliza asked.
“Well, I’ll show you what really turns me on.”
I showed her a few video clips on my iPad where women were working with men’s hair. Touching, cutting, and shaving.
“What is it that turns you on so much? Touching your hair and the attention you get?” I confirmed those thoughts.
On my next visit to Eliza, she had trimmed her hair a bit. As soon as I walked in, she asked, “What do you think of my hair? I went to the hairdresser.”
It had been styled a bit more after she had let the millimeters grow out. Not really spectacular, but I gave her a compliment.
She said, “You probably would have preferred to cut my hair, right?”
I didn’t give a clear answer to that.
I turned the tables, “Actually, I need to visit the hairdresser too. But I’m not sure how I want it cut. How would you do it, Eliza?”
She replied, “Exactly how you want it. I have no problem with your hair.”
“But if you could decide, then what?”
She answered, “…with clippers.”
“As short as you had it, Eliza?”
“No, not that short. Very short on the sides and slightly longer on top.”
“Okay,” I said.
Her face lit up, and with wide eyes, she asked, “Do you have clippers with you?”
“No, just scissors.”
But she didn’t react further.
I had my wish handed to me on a silver platter, but I didn’t take it. I had often tried to get a girl or even my girlfriend to cut my hair really well, I mean, very well. However, without success. Now I could get what I had been dreaming of for so long, and I let it slip through my fingers. Because what if the saying is true, “familiarity breeds contempt”?
That was about two months ago. My hair was quite long back then. A week or two later, I got a bit tired of it and visited the hairdresser. I also wanted to resist giving in to my fetish, so I avoided Eliza for a while. I was afraid that an hour of fun with her would end in six months of regret.
Today, I went back to Eliza. As soon as I entered, she started kissing and seducing me. When we got to the room, she said, “Have you been to the hairdresser since the last time?”
“Yes, what do you think?”
Eliza replied, “What do you think of it?”
I said, “I got tired of it all of a sudden. It just didn’t look good anymore. It’s not quite what I expected. The hairdresser asked me why I wanted to keep the top and front long… maybe she was right, and it would have been better a bit shorter. Well, new round, new chances, right?”
“What ever you want,” Eliza said, smiling. “So when is the next round?”
I said, “You have no idea what I want.”
“Oh,” she said. “But I do know what you want. I just want you to say it.”
“Yeah, yeah. So when are you going to cut my hair?” I asked.
“Just tell me,” she said. “At the next round… or now… if you have all the equipment with you, that is.”
I said, “Check the side pocket of my bag.”
Eliza jumped up, made a two-meter leap, and unzipped my bag.
She took out the plastic kit with hairdressing supplies: combs, a mirror, pins, a brush, hair clips, and two different pairs of scissors. She spread them out on the edge of the bed.
“You surely came prepared,” she said.
“I’ve had them with me every time,” I replied.
Eliza pushed me onto the bed and said, “Naughty, there’s still something missing. You probably know what I mean, right?”
I said, “I wouldn’t know. Did you look closely? Check another compartment in the bag.”
Eliza searched through the small pockets first and then… she found a box in gift wrapping. “Is this it?”
I said, “Open it, and you’ll find out.”
She tore off the wrapping paper bit by bit, and she started to shine like a little girl receiving her first Barbie from Santa Claus.
A brand new state-of-the-art clipper. She took it out and examined it closely. She turned it on, and a soft buzzing filled the room.
She said, “I know how to use this.” And she adjusted the length setting between 40 and 0 mm. “Is it already charged?”
I nodded. Eliza turned off the clipper and jumped on top of me.
She let me sit up, straddling me, and before I knew it, I was inside her, and she started to ride me gently.
She kissed me with her full lips and used her hands to explore my head and hair.
“Do you really want this? I mean, really? So I can, uh… cut your hair,” she asked.
“What ever you want,” I said.
“A bit, very short… or EVERYTHING?”
I repeat, “what ever you want.”
Eliza takes a pair of scissors and with her other hand, she pulls the hair on my forehead straight up and holds it firmly.
She brings the scissors over and asks, “Are you sure?”
I hold her hand, and then she closes the scissors and cuts a lock. I have no idea how big. Until she clamps the lock between her fingers and holds it in front of my eyes.
“More?” she asks.
I remain silent and look into her big eyes. That’s a clear answer to her question. She takes a fine-toothed comb and combs my bangs straight down, almost covering my glasses. Then she grabs the bangs, holds them straight up, and puts the scissors almost against my scalp. She hesitates for a moment, and then, snip. A large lock falls down and hangs halfway down her beautiful breasts. I gulp. Do I still like this? As far as I can estimate without a mirror, purely based on feel, there’s maybe just an inch or two left of my bangs.
We kiss passionately while with my eyes closed, I feel the scissors against my head, and locks of hair falling down my back and shoulders.
She stops for a moment and says, “You can still change your mind. If you go to the hairdresser later, they can probably fix it.”
That sounds tempting, but I don’t want to mess up this chance to fulfill my dream again.
I say, “I thought you weren’t so fussy about hair. At least that’s what you said last time. But if YOU want to stop, I’ll understand…”
“Not me. I’m getting so excited,” Eliza says. “I thought I’d give you one last chance because if I continue now, well, uh…”
“Then what?” I ask.
“Then I can’t hold back anymore, and I can’t stop,” she replies.
“Probably neither can I,” I respond.
Eliza looks at me intently, kisses me very gently, and hesitantly picks up the scissors again. She takes locks one by one, waits for a moment, and snips. Our naked bodies are covered in hair.
It seems to last for an hour, until she puts the scissors down and rubs both hands over my head to let the loose hairs fall. She wipes off the hairs sticking to her beautiful body.
“Come forward,” Eliza says. She brings my head close to her and clamps it against her beautiful breasts.
“Give me a number under forty,” she says.
I’m so entranced by this point that I have no idea what she means.
She repeats, “A number under forty, or under ten, that’s fine too…”
“Five.”
“Five?” she asks. “Not fifteen, twenty-five, or something like that?”
I say, “No, five,” and realize suddenly that she wants to set the clipper length. Too late. First, I hear an electronic beep, a buzz, and then I feel the clipper slowly moving up my neck from below. It feels quite cold. She stops halfway and then speeds up until she reaches my crown. My God, what have I done, I think. While I let out deep breaths against her chest, I feel her shaving my nape. It feels so cold that it can’t be anything other than very short.
She turns off the clipper for a moment and strokes my neck with her hand. She takes my chin and says, “Lift your head again.” She kisses me intensely.
“Feel it,” she says, and she guides my hand to my neck. I’m startled.
“Do you want to see it too?” She takes her phone and quickly takes a photo. My breath stops as I see it. Almost completely bald is my thought. She then takes the mirror and lets me look. I see that she has already trimmed quite a bit above my ears from the back.
I hadn’t even noticed in all the excitement.
“And?” she asks.
“Very, very short,” I say.
She picks up the clipper again, adjusts it with a twist of the dial, and it beeps again. With her left hand, she brushes my hair at the front backward and says, “It can be much shorter, you know.”
With a swift, long motion, she slides the clipper from the middle of my forehead directly to my crown. Even though she had already made quite short work with the scissors, I see a massive amount of hair fall in front of me. It can hardly be anything but nearly all gone. I have no illusion that more than a few millimeters remain.
Eliza says, “What ever I want, right…?”
I can’t hold back any longer, and I reach a climax at the moment she draws the next strip from front to back.
“Oh, delightful,” she moans. She continues with long strokes. She briefly pulls more forward to access my neck, trimming it briefly just like the front.
As a finishing touch, she runs the clipper over my head countless times.
She puts it down, and we embrace and kiss each other for a long time.
Eventually, she wipes off all the hair from both of us. She says, “Thank you, darling. I really enjoyed it.”
I can’t say a word.
I get dressed. As I leave through the back door, I don’t dare to look in the mirror that hangs there. I do feel it for a moment before getting into the car. Something, yes, maybe a millimeter… my God, what have I done? Was this really what I wanted? At the very least, it was what Eliza wanted…
